


hand in hand

by nanrea



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Parent-Child Relationship, Suicide Attempt, canon suicide attempt so I mean that shouldn't be a surprise hopefully, doomed romance, if two ardat yakshi try to mind meld with each other do they make both their heads explode?, midnight therapy sessions in the common area, well I mean it's about Thane so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 05:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11684676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanrea/pseuds/nanrea
Summary: Take the hand outstretched, let it give what comfort it can, let it guide you forward. Never let it go.(Samara feels Thane’s influence the greatest only after he dies.)





	hand in hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cavaticarose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cavaticarose/gifts).



(Her most beautiful and clever child is dead.)

Samara remembered well her first meeting with the drell. He had been instrumental in the success of the task she gave Shepard to ensure her cooperation with the mission to defeat the Collectors. His calm presence in the police station was an island of peace in a sea of upheaval, and though her focus remained solely on her search for Morinth those first few months, she took note of it, for it was interesting. Through several missions in which Shepard shuffled around the ground teams to test out the combat capabilities and teamwork synergies, Samara always felt most at ease with Thane, his composure a reflection of her own.

And perhaps, because he was the only other crew member who was also a parent.

It wasn’t something they spoke of often, for they did not speak often, in those first few months aboard the _Normandy_. She knew only that he had a child who he wished to reconcile with and guide to the correct path before it was too late.

Like it was too late for her own child.

(Her most loyal and faithful daughter is dead.)

It was late, the night after she had murdered Morinth, her brightest and most beautiful daughter. Restless and wrestling with a grief she was not sure she had the right to feel, Samara found herself standing quickly and leaving the starboard lounge. She strode as if she had a purpose, through the common area, the lights dimmed for the human night cycle. She did not have a purpose. She stopped, staring at the tiny kitchenette where Mr. Gardner had prepared what had been a mediocre meal if the smell was any indication, earlier that night. 

Food would have been wise. She had not eaten since before she had murdered her daughter.

Behind her, hidden as if merged with the shadows, Thane cleared his throat. Samara wondered if it was solely to get her attention without alarming her, or if it was a symptom of his advancing lung ailment. She decided not to speculate.

“I am sorry for your loss,” he said, the words wooden, solemn and uselessness. Samara found herself swallowing back anger as well as grief. She found she did not have an answer.  “I do not know if I would have had the strength to do as you have for my own son, should he stray down the wrong path.”

“Is it strength, to murder my daughter?”

Thane’s fathomless eyes flickered for a moment as if some memory was recalled, though he says nothing of what it might have been. Instead, he said, “You can only serve as guide for your children for so long, and hope that you lead them to the right path. If you know you have failed, there is strength in acknowledging it.”

“As you have with your son?” she asked. A cruel barb, perhaps. They were on route to the Citadel, she knew, because there was reason to believe that Thane’s son was becoming involved in assassination. 

Thane tilted his head. “I have done many things wrong, in the raising of Kolyat.” His eyes flicker again, and he mutters quickly, “He stops me, ‘Father, where do you go, why do you leave.’ Irikah is dead, and I full of grief, ignore him. I walk out the door.” He turned and walked to the counter by her side. “I failed to comfort and guide him during perhaps the worst time of his life, and I cannot blame him for making the choices he has made so far, but I would like to stop him from making any that sets him on my path through life.”

“A noble goal,” Samara replied. 

“I realize there is little that parallels your situation, however.” His eyes are earnest pits of darkness. “It is presumptuous of me to consider them similar, and I apologize for implying that your daughter’s choices were the results of your own. I wish only to share some small portion of your burden.”

She could only dip her head, voice locked in her throat. His hand, warm and dusty dry, brushed gently over her own, and then he was gone.

(Her most honest and sincere child yet lives.)

A week went by in a seasick stagger, vying between the calm refuge of knowing justice had been served and the guilt of have destroyed the best and worst that life had given her. In that time she rarely spoke to anyone. Shepard came in at one point, Dr. Chakwas at another to perform a follow up exam of the injuries she received in her fight with Morinth. Four days into the fugue they landed at the Citadel, and she barely noted the change in view from void to docking bay.

She left her room only at night, when she was least likely to meet any of the Cerberus crew.

She met Thane again, on the eighth night. Their conversation was brief.

“Shepard and I have discovered my son’s next target,” he said without preamble. “We go tomorrow to stop him.”

“May you succeed where I failed,” she replied. She felt cold. She left without waiting for a reply.

(Can she truly kill her only remaining daughter?)

Thane was waiting for her, the next night. “My son is safe,” he said. “My son will find another path.”

Samara nodded. Her hand, almost of its own volition, reached out across the empty space between them, took hold of his shoulder and squeezed. “Good,” she said. “Good.”

(She turns the gun away from her daughter.)

They continued to meet, throughout the rest of the mission against the Collectors. Not every night, but when Samara felt herself grow restless, when the darkness of her own thoughts seemed deeper than the void she meditated on, she would walk the common room, and Thane would join her.

They spoke on many topics. Thane, she found, had been raised to a rigid standard much like her own, though different in intent and execution. She had been dedicated to justice, and he to revenge. He spent his early years serving the hanar and following their will, while she had spent her last few centuries serving the Code. Both of them had achieved their goals, and faced their deaths with peace.

Both expected to die in the Collector base. They rarely discussed a possible future beyond it. Samara would not lie to herself: she did not wish to live beyond it. Her other daughters would die in their monastery and she would live by the Code that dictated the deaths of her children. Thane had only months left of enough health to live free of a hospital bed. The future was filled only with darkness. She did not wish to see it.

She found that when the attack on the Collector base finally came, it was Thane she fought most strongly to protect, and it was Thane who made her feel most protected during the harrowing journey through the seeker swarms. Thane watched her back when they made their stand to guard Shepard’s rear, and she shielded him in the retreat to the _Normandy_. 

It was a startling revelation: Samara had survived. Thane had survived. They would need to make plans. She had only one desire, however. She wanted to return Thane safely to his son.

(She wants to keep her daughter safe.)

Their time left on the _Normandy_ was brief and bittersweet with success. When Shepard dispersed the crew on the Citadel, Samara left with Thane.

She succeeded in this self given mission, returning him to his son. Their reunion was brief, strained, but less so than Samara would have expected. Mostly Kolyat seemed alarmed that his father's condition had deteriorated in the month since they last saw each other.

Kolyat was insistent that he seek at least palliative treatment for his disease, and Thane relented.

He held her hand, on the elevator ride to Huerta Memorial. 

“I did not expect to live through this mission,” he confessed as they waited for Kolyat, who would accompany him into his appointment. “In all honesty, I do not expect to see the end of this war. I would like to ask you a question, Samara. Would you continue to speak to me, in the darkest nights?”

“Very well,” she answered. She did not let go of his hand.

(The gun trembles in her hand.)

The day of the Cerberus attack, she was away from the Citadel. She was not there for his final hour. The grief was a dim shadow on a backdrop of black. She was headed to the Monastery. She was destined to destroy her remaining daughters.

(Her finger tightens.)

He'd left her an audio recording. It was impossible to know when he had recorded it. He had given it to her when he learned that she would be leaving for a mission, and told her to listen to it if she heard of his death before she returned.

There was never any doubt in him of her return.

She had three hours before her ship reached Lesuss. She pressed play.

"Samara," his voice was thready, weedy as it had grown while the Kepral's Syndrome progressed. "Thank you for these past few months. We knew from the beginning that our time would be limited, and-"  


She turned the recording off.

(The shot, when it came, did not hurt.)

The war has ended, and somehow, Samara lives on.

In the darkest nights, she continues to speak with him, though she no longer receives an answer. And though he did not ask it of her, she keeps an eye on Koliat, too, and guides him when he needs it.

She often visits the monastery where her daughter makes her home. Her last, remaining daughter, who she loves, who she values more than any Code. 

The war has ended, and the galaxy spins on, and her with it. Sometimes, when she walks the paths alone, she hears the sound of waves on a distant beach, and feels the dry tingle of his hand.

 

"I am glad to have had even this much. I will wait for you across the sea."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm kind of surprised at myself for picking the saddest romance option of all the prompts you provided, oops. But somehow the idea of Samara and Thane just wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> Emotions are hard. Why do I keep making myself write about them?


End file.
